


Maneuvers

by romanticalgirl



Series: Political Maneuvers [2]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Politics - the art of the possible. A sequel to <a href="http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/345567.html">Games</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Maneuvers

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://amari-z.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://amari-z.livejournal.com/)**amari_z** who is having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad week
> 
> Originally posted 8-23-06

Arthur ran a hand through his newly washed hair and shook off the thick rain of droplets. He dressed carefully, methodically putting on the layers of command with every garment. He was younger than most every man here, save a few of the Sarmatians in his guard, and every knew that every advantage would need to be held tightly.

He straightened his collar, settling his chin above it. He closed his eyes for a moment then strode into the small room he’d been given as means of an office for the time being and sat that the low table. It was already covered with more scrolls and parchments than could possibly have reached Rome since his arrival, leading him to believe that his predecessor had been more than somewhat remiss in keeping up to date with his details.

No matter.

He had more pressing things to attend to.

“Come.” He called as the knock came at the door, opening to reveal the Roman guard who had escorted him through the camp earlier. His face was still florid, eyes bright with anger. Arthur imagined it had much to do with the berating all the men had received from their superior office as the Sarmatians – one and all still “alive” had expressed their victory in knowing, silent grins over the bodies of their “fallen” victims.

Mud, Arthur had come to know, did little to boost morale.

“Gnaeus Appuleius.” He saluted Arthur cleanly, despite the fact that he was still coated in a thick layer of mud.

Arthur nodded and stared at the larger man. He had, possibly, saved Arthur’s life. There was a strong possibility that, had the Sarmatian landed on him, Arthur would have drawn and invoked a true battle rather than the game that had been going on at his interruption. However, it was imperative that Arthur make a statement and claim Briton his to lead.

“Explain to me, if you would, Gnaeus, what happened today.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

“The men. Explain the…game?”

“Oh, that’s. Well, see, it’s the only way we can get the dogs…er, the Sarmatians, to train, Sir. They don’t know anything but killing, so we tell them so long as they fight fair, they can pretend all they want.”

“And do they?”

“Sir?”

Arthur sighed and glanced down at his desk, the names scrawled across the parchment. “The Sarmatians, Gnaeus. Do they fight fair?”

“Seem to,” He admitted grudgingly.

“And the end result? Is that typical?”

His red face flushed brighter and Arthur shook his head. “Never mind that question. Tell me the rules.”

“Well.” He paused and shifted his stance. “If you’re touched with a sword, throat or heart, you’re dead. You lie where they leave you and stay there until the game’s ended.”

“And when does that happen?”

“When more than half the men are dead or at dusk.”

Arthur nodded. The sun had been high in the sky still when the game had been called. “And if the rules are not obeyed? If someone…dead…gets to his feet?”

“It’s not done.”

“And yet I did it today.”

“You’re the _commander_ , Sir.” He shook his head, trying to convey the words that seemed to fail him. “You weren’t _playing_.”

“I was on the field of battle.”

“It’s a _game_ , Sir.”

“What does it mean.”

“It’s never happened before, Commander. It just…I…” He looked down at his feet, his jaw working. “The whe…” He swallowed hard and inhaled deeply. “You’re his kill. He would have gotten points for you.”

“Points?”

“They earn points for privileges. Keeps them wanting to fight. Wanting to play the game.”

“What privileges?” He mumbled something in response and Arthur’s eyes widened. “ ** _What_**?”

“Food, sir.”

“Food.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Food.” Arthur’s voice was as hard and sharp as the edge of a sword, even to his own ears. “Get me your superior officer. **Now**. And find me the Sarmatian.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not yet. You will be. All of you will be. But you will find me that Sarmatian and you will bring him to me and you will treat him with respect.”

“He’s a…”

“He is a knight in the Roman army at this moment in time. He is _my_ knight. And you will treat anyone who serves Rome and through Rome, serves me, with the utmost respect. Is that understood?”

“You can make us pay service to them, Commander, while you watch, but no man, no _true_ Roman will treat them as anything but what they are.”

“And what is that?”

“Like wild dogs. They don’t care about people, they don’t care about property. They’d just as soon take a woman against her will as…”

“It sounds to me, Gnaeus, that they are very much _true_ Romans if one is to go by much of the behavior I’ve seen from Romans just in the short time I’ve been here. Now. Find me your superior officer. And find me the Sarmatian and bring him here in one piece or the next time he has a sword at your throat, it _won’t_ be a game. Am I clear?”

Arthur stood stock still as Gnaeus left his office then slumped down in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them at the soft whisper of sound. The young Sarmatian stood in his doorway, his face hard, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I told you not to interfere. All you’ve done is made it worse.”

“I will make it better.”

“You really believe that?” The dark eyebrow lifted and the young man shook his head. “You do.”

“I have to believe it.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

Arthur watched him closely. “If I’m right, then you’re the fool.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re wrong or right. What I am does not change.”

“And what are you?”

He pushed off the doorway and offered Arthur a slight bow of his head. “Rome’s slave. Which, Commander, by virtue of rank, also makes me yours.”  



End file.
